


Compassion

by Xangonne



Category: Call of Cthulhu: Path of Perdition (Web Series), Internet Remix, Rolling with Remix: Masks of Nyarlathotep (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post Ep. 7, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28710450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xangonne/pseuds/Xangonne
Summary: “Compassion was the most important, perhaps the sole law of human existence.”― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The IdiotorThe tender act of taking an outstretched hand.
Relationships: Mason Allen & Kit Sullivan, Mason Allen/Kit Sullivan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	Compassion

* * *

Mason stood in the hotel hallway, hand half-raised, and in an internal battle with himself. Every fibre of his being was torn between letting his hand fall, and walking away; or taking the plunge, and knocking. Every step until this point had been a slow traversal from one breaking point to another: accepting he couldn't sleep, accepting that it was out of fear and anxiety, accepting his need to get out of bed, and accepting the fact that he could not do this alone-- that he could not stay alone for a single second longer.

The warm lights of the hotel hallway flickered pleasantly. He tried not to think about how long it had taken him to build up the courage to step outside of his room, or how many times he had glanced down the hall-- furtively trying to determine if something or anything at all was out of place. It wasn't. As far as he could tell, it was 2 in the morning, and he was alone. It was 2 in the morning, and his heart hammered so hard in his chest that he could hear his own pulse in his ears. The more he thought about it, the faster it went-- a driving, staccato rhythm that refused to let him rest. It drove him to movement; first in his room, bouncing his leg up and down as he sat on the edge of his bed, with his face buried in his hands; and now here in the hall, fidgeting with his sleeve and shifting from foot to foot.

It was an open offer, he told himself-- the muscles in his jaw tightening until his teeth ached. This was just taking him up on his offer, nothing more, and nothing less.

Mason did his best to push away the thoughts of what had happened before. His panic attack. His break. His stress and anxiety that had boiled over until he was reduced to a shaking, heaving mess in front of everyone else.

_Fragile Mason. Always paranoid, always anxious._

Mason did his best to ignore his thoughts-- the thoughts that played in his mind as though they were broadcast from an old, skipping victrola. Thoughts like these always used Aphrodite's voice. The smoky, vicious tone cut through the noise until she was all that was left.

_Weak Mason. Always soft, always fearful._

She was in Sing Sing, she was long gone and far away. She couldn't hurt him anymore. Yet... yet he could still see her face as plain as day. He could still hear the contempt in her voice, layered thick and sweet behind her sultry smile. He could still feel her cold, cold hands.

_Pathetic Mason. Always falling into the arms of the first man he meets, looking for a saviour._

He could feel the heat and pressure building up behind his eyes. The burning shame. The jumbled mess of his feelings and experiences, all rolling into one. Larkin. His friends. All eyes being on him. The fear. Always belonging to someone else. The terror. The weight of a pistol in his hands. Reassuring arms around him, and steady breathing in his ear. The twisting in his gut, the--

The door in front of him was open, and Kit stood in the doorway, his arms folded tightly against his chest.

Mason let his hand drop. He did not remember knocking on the door. He took a step back.

"Mason?" Kit's voice was heavy with sleep, his normal rasp even more pronounced than usual.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you I--" Mason scrubbed at his eyes, and took another step back.

Fully awake now, Kit stepped out into the hall and-- just like before-- slowly reached out. Just like before, Mason let him. Kit gently put a hand on his shoulder. "You're not a bother, Mason."

Mason averted his eyes from Kit's gaze. The obvious sincerity in Kit's eyes was raw. It felt as though he was seeing something private. Something not meant for him to know. Kit searched his face. "How about you come inside?"

Mason nodded weakly, and allowed Kit to gently guide him in.

* * *

Mason found himself sitting on the edge of the bed as Kit made his rounds of the room-- checking door and window locks. It looked habitual, automatic even, and Mason couldn't help but wonder if this was something that he just always did; even before Jackson. When Kit was satisfied, he locked and bolted the front door.

"Sorry to wake you up."

Kit hummed. "Don't worry about it. I wasn't asleep." He wrapped his robe around himself more tightly, taking care that the top of it was closed. He pulled up a chair-- keeping a slight distance from Mason, as though he didn't want to spook him.

Mason cast a glance around the room. It was tidy-- spartan even. Kit's belongings were tucked away in his suitcase, or the dresser. The only things that stood out were a familiar long, dark case by the bedside and the surgeon's bag by the front door. Otherwise, it was as though the room was vacant. If the bed-sheets were not rumpled, Mason could have sworn that the bed had not even been slept in.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kit’s voice startled Mason.

Mason opened his mouth, then closed it again. His thoughts refused to arrange themselves into anything coherent. Instead, it felt like he was in the center of a maelstrom-- phrases and thoughts whipping at his face as he stood there, sinking into the depths. Helpless. Always helpless.

"I don't know." His own voice was foreign to him, as though a stranger was speaking with his own lips and tongue. "I don't know," he choked out again, his mouth dry. He felt his heartbeat racing as the panic once more began to sink its claws into him. He buried his face in his hands-- his shoulders shaking with effort as his breathing became erratic.

Kit eased his way out of the chair and moved towards him. He knelt on the floor in front of the bed and gently took Mason's hands in his own. "Mason, look at me? Please?"

Mason's hands shook, but he opened his eyes and looked at Kit. Kit held his hands, thumbs tracing over his knuckles in small, soothing motions. His eyes were soft. Mason did his best to regulate his ragged breathing, but everything was going too fast-- it was blurring, his vision was blurring, and it felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the room to stop spinning around him. He felt Kit shift, not letting go of his hands, and then felt the bed dip down beside him.

"Mason, I'm going to touch your face. Is that alright?"

Mason nodded. It felt like his whole body was shaking. He felt Kit let go, and then put one hand on either side of his face. He flinched slightly, out of instinct more than anything else. The hands on his face hesitated, but then tilted his head down gently. He felt Kit's forehead touch his own.

"Take a deep breath. You don't need to open your eyes."

Mason nodded, feeling hot tears run down his face. He took a shallow breath, then another, deeper one.

"Good." Kit's voice was very close, close enough that it managed to cut through the roaring in his ears. "We're going to take 5 more of those, together."

Mason nodded. He covered Kit's hands with his own, holding them tight against his head.

Kit began to breathe, and Mason focused on matching him. The focus it required began to slowly tease him out of the internal tangle he was mired in; and between the counting and the solid tactile sensation, he felt his breathing even out. Bit by bit, he became more aware of physical things around him. The hands on his face. The forehead pressed against his own. The faint scent of lavender. Mason continued to match his breathing to Kit's, and they sat together for a while in silence; until finally Mason's heart slowed. His whole body ached, and his lungs burned. It felt as though he had just run a marathon.

"Sorry." Mason's eyes were still squeezed shut.

"You're fine." Kit's voice was still close.

Mason opened his eyes. Kit's were closed. "It's been getting to me," Mason whispered. "Everything has. The questions on questions. Being tailed. I can't even stay in my room at night without thinkin'... without thinkin' about what happened to Jackson. How he was alone." Mason drew back slightly, and Kit let his hands fall-- but Mason kept Kit's hands in his own.

Mason continued. "I don't know. Sometimes it feels like. Sometimes it feels like we're never gonna be safe again, y’know?"

Kit opened his eyes and looked down at both their hands. "I know." He squeezed Mason's hands for reassurance, as though he were trying to reassure the both of them with that small gesture. "I know, Mason."

Mason took his hands back and scrubbed at his eyes, wiping away the last remnants of tears. Kit folded his hands in his own lap and looked at them, as though they didn't belong to him. He shifted away from Mason, putting distance between them. Kit tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling, avoiding Mason's eyes. "I can't make you any promises, Mason. I don't know if we ever will be safe again. I'm sorry, but it's the truth."

Mason nodded. "I know."

"But as long as I'm breathing, I will always do my best to keep you safe. You, and everyone else." There was a fierceness in Kit's voice-- an intense, honed edge that caught Mason's attention.

Mason found himself believing it, believing Kit. "We'd do the same for you, you know."

Kit stood up. "You should get some sleep," he gestured to the bed. "It's late, and I'll be here. I'll keep watch."

Mason didn't argue. The room was cold, and he felt like an empty shell of himself-- like the panic and the tears had sucked him dry. He crawled under the duvet and cocooned himself in it. Perhaps he would never feel safe again, but at least he wasn't alone, in an empty room; at the mercy of whoever decided to break in. At least he wasn’t alone with his buzzing thoughts, and the iron taste of fear between his teeth.

Kit took an extra blanket out of the closet before moving to put out the bed-side light and settle down. Mason looked up-- the light of the lamp cast sharp shadows across the scarring on Kit's face. He stared, for a moment; before forcing his eyes somewhere-- anywhere else. "What were you reading?" Mason sat up and gestured to the end-table, and the thin book placed there.

"Just some poetry. Picked it up as some light reading for the voyage over. I can only read so much of the Lancet before craving some other subject matter." Kit smiled slightly, as though at some private joke.

"Would you mind reading me some?" The words tumbled out of Mason's mouth before he could process the thought. He felt his face flush.

Kit looked at Mason, but the emotion on his face was nigh-unreadable. For a brief moment, Mason wondered if he had crossed some sort of boundary-- or if he had asked something he should not have. Kit was difficult to read, for him. Other people were easy. They wore their emotions plain on their faces, or carried them obviously in the lines of their bodies. Kit was closed off in ways that he did not know how to unravel.

"I wouldn't mind," Kit said, taking the book from the end-table. He looked down at it, in his hands, and drummed his fingers on the cover. "Are you sure? I ah... I don't exactly have a voice for radio."

It took a moment for the implication to dawn on Mason. "I don't mind," he said, perhaps a little too quickly. "I like your voice."

Kit inclined his head, but did not look at him. There was a long pause between the two of them, and in the space of the silence, Mason wondered if he had said the wrong thing. If he had pushed something he was not supposed to push. If he had made comment on something too personal.

He didn't really think about Kit's injury much anymore. He, and the rest of the group, had adapted around Kit in their own small ways-- Mason speaking up and catching attention for him when he needed space to be heard, Sunil always walking on Kit's bad side so he was not exposed, Sybil always ready with a too-bright smile and hard eyes if she noticed people staring too long, and James always sitting opposite to him in restaurants-- covering the other half of the place, and being the peripheral vision that Kit somewhat lacked. But now that he thought about it, Mason realized that he didn't really know how Kit felt about his injuries. Kit didn't talk about it.

Kit didn't talk about most things, come to think of it.

Kit sat down on the bed proper, with his back against the head-board. His shoulder pressed firmly against Mason's, but he made no move to draw away. Mason leaned against him slightly, but Kit did not move. If anything, Mason could have sworn that he leaned back.

Kit opened the slim volume, took a deep breath, and began to read.

_"April is the cruellest month, breeding  
_

_Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing_

_Memory and desire, stirring_

_Dull roots with spring rain..._ _"  
_

Mason felt the exhaustion of the day before finally overtake him, and he slipped into oblivion-- the soft growl of Kit's poetry lulling him to sleep.

* * *

Mason woke up to the steady rise and fall of Kit's breathing.

The side table lamp had been put out sometime in the night, and the faint gray light of the dawn seeped into the room from behind the heavy curtains. He was laying with his head on Kit's chest, and he could feel Kit's arms around him, holding him loosely in his sleep. The clock read 5 in the morning, Kit smelt of lavender, and Mason felt... safe.

He shifted slightly and looked up at Kit. In his sleep, he looked younger-- far younger than he did when he was awake. The lines of worry that seemed permanently etched onto his face had smoothed out, and he was almost unrecognizable; especially from this angle, where only the left side of his face was visible. Mason was struck with the sudden realization that Kit was only a few years older than himself. It was always something he had known, but he had not processed it until now. Kit stirred in his sleep, and Mason looked away, feeling once more as though he was intruding on something he was never meant to see. Wanting to know things and being direct about it was one thing; but in a space like this, a space of vulnerability, it seemed far too brash.

Mason felt the muscles in Kit's chest and shoulder stiffen as he woke up, and he felt Kit snatch his arms back and away-- as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be.

Mason felt something ache, deep in his chest. "You don't gotta move, doc. You're fine," he spoke up softly.

Kit did not answer, but Mason felt him slowly relax and hesitantly return his arms to where they were before. "You sleep alright?" Kit finally asked.

Mason nodded. "Yeah, I did. Thanks." He tilted his head up so he could see Kit's face. "Sorry again. For showing up like that."

"Hm? You're fine, Mason. If I wasn't fine with it, I wouldn't have offered." Kit raised an eyebrow. "Besides, I don't think you made it a single stanza before you passed out."

"I definitely made it longer than that," Mason huffed. "I remember you sayin' something in German, I think? And hyacinths. Somethin' about hyacinths."

Kit laughed softly-- so quiet that it was something Mason felt rather than heard. _"_ _Oed’ und leer das Meer,_ _"_ he quoted. "You made it to the end of the second stanza, then. I stand corrected."

A silence spun out between them, like fine thread under tension. Delicate, yet connected.

"Is this alright?" Kit asked, his voice almost inaudible.

"Huh? Yeah, of course it is. What do you mean?"

Kit shrugged. "I was going to move to the chair, but then you fell asleep on my shoulder and I didn't want to disturb you..."

Mason bit back the flippant reply that automatically sprang to mind, and considered their position. "I don't mind if you don't mind," he said, arranging the words carefully. "Besides, it's cold in here."

Kit hummed in agreement. "That it is." Mason felt some of the tension ease as Kit sighed.

They settled into a more comfortable silence, this time, before Kit finally spoke up again. "It's nice to not be alone."

Mason shifted so that his face was tucked against Kit's neck.

"Yeah. It is."

**Author's Note:**

> A divergence in which the investigators had a little more time before they were called to Juju House at the end of Episode 7.


End file.
